The Time We've Lost
by Quee
Summary: Only one couple in a century has a chance at true love, but that doesn't stop the rest of us from trying to muddle through on our own. Inigo pays a visit to someone in his past. I deleted chapter four, because I hate it, but I'm trying to re-work it.
1. Chapter One: Coming Home

_The Time We've Lost_

_Chapter One: Coming Home_

_Disclaimer: The Princess Bride is not mine. It belongs to S. Morgenstern, or William Goldman, or someone else who isn't me._

  


_By the by, I have deleted the default / introduction chapter, because I don't like it. That means that the only 'possible blatant Mary Sue' warning you will get is this one right here. So there._

  


It was almost dusk by the time the four of them arrived in Arabella. They were all tired and hungry; indeed, a bleary-eyed Fezzik, who rarely tired, had carried Buttercup for the last hour, and she was almost asleep. Westley, too was looking considerably less lively than he had that morning. Inigo, who was leading the troop, was the only one who still seemed wide awake. In fact, by the time they reached the bend in the road that lead into the little town, it seemed that he was half running, half skipping, such was his excitement. He didn't pause until he had reached the sign announcing their arrival into the village of his childhood. At this moment, he stopped abruptly, glancing quickly about, reminiscing. Then, he closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply the fresh mountain air. 

"I am here, Domingo," he said. "I have avenged your death, and now, after all these years, I have finally come home."

It was at that point that the other three caught up with him. He saw their fatigue, which was now very apparent, and felt a twinge of guilt. He had known that the journey would be rough, but they had insisted on coming along with him. Really, he was glad that they had come, especially Fezzik. They had made rhymes during the journey, just like old times. It had helped to calm his nerves, for although he was excited, he was unsure what to expect, and it unnerved him ever so slightly.

"I like it, Inigo. It looks very nice," said Fezzik, quietly.

"That description, I'd say, is very precise."

Fezzik smiled. He was glad that Inigo had let him come along. His best friend in the whole world, Inigo always knew how to make things right. Suddenly, it didn't matter how long he had been walking, or how long it had been since he had last eaten. He wasn't alone, but rather had been allowed to come on a grand adventure with the three people he liked best. He set Buttercup, who was beginning to wake up a bit, down beside Westley, and went to stand beside Inigo. The two lovers came up behind them, Buttercup still gazing about dazedly. 

"So, Inigo," said Westley, breaking the silence after a few moments, "have you given any thought as to where we can stay tonight?"

Inigo gave a slight nod, and began, slowly and silently, to walk again. He led them down the main road for a time, until they reached a small brook. At this point, he turned right, heading upstream down a narrower path. As they walked, the others looked about, noticing the lovely towering trees, and the intricate shadows they cast on the path as the sun began to sink in the sky. They also, now and again, glanced at the clear, sparkling stream that continued to run parallel to their steps. Inigo, however, stared straight ahead, as if straining to see something beyond the trees, something just out of sight. From time to time, he paused slightly, taking a deep breath before continuing on again. Despite the number of times he stopped to compose himself, however, he was visibly trembling by the time they reached their destination: a small cottage by a wider portion of the stream, complete with a thatched roof, a fence, and a small garden with a stone bench and a shed. Inigo leaned on the fence for a moment, in one last vain attempt to steady himself, before making his way to the front door. It was really getting dark now, so much that the others, who followed hesitantly behind him, failed to notice the few stray tears that had suddenly escaped his eyes and were making their way down his cheeks. With one final calming breath, Inigo brushed them away as best he could, collected himself, and knocked at the door. The four of them heard the faint sound of someone humming some indistinguishable tune inside the house, which was growing slightly louder as though the person were coming nearer. Before seeing Inigo's reaction to this noise, none of them had thought it possible for a person to both visibly relax and become more nervous at the same time.

The person on the other side of the door had not yet answered their knock. Indeed, judging from the sudden volume consistency, it seemed as though they were finishing the song before replying. Buttercup sent Westley a puzzled look, but he held up a finger, shushing her as he listened. Finally, when the song seemed to be finished, a female voice called, "Who's there?"

The voice itself struck Westley as slightly strange. There was a definite Spanish accent, but there was also a trace of accent from somewhere else, and this seemed slightly odd to him.

All that Inigo said in response to the woman's question was "It's me." Just, 'It's me.' Not 'Inigo Montoya.' Not any indication of who 'me' was. "It's me," was all he seemed to be able to muster. 

And yet, the voice must have understood what 'me' he was talking about, for she said it for him.

"Inigo Montoya. I never expected to see you here again."

"The six fingered man is dead."

"Oh. Congratulations." The voice grew suddenly tight and distant.

"May I come in?"

"I don't know."

"I understand that we have not seen each other for quite some time. I also realize that perhaps you are not as happy to see me as I am to see you. I hope, however, that you will realize that I had to leave before, and that it had nothing to do with you and everything to do with the murder of my beloved father. In addition, Ramona Anatolia, I hope you will note that it is now getting quite dark out here, and we have come a long way and are very tired and very hungry. I am hoping, you see, that, in light of this, you will take pity on us and extend some of you renowned hospitality to myself and my three friends, who have brought it upon themselves to accompany me on my journey here to see you again."

There was a pause as she seemed to contemplate what Inigo had said. Then, slowly and hesitantly, the cottage door opened, and, standing indecisively in the doorway, was the their first glimpse of Ramona.

  
  


_Well? Did you like it? Hate it? Please Review._

_I'll try and post Chapter Two soon, because I know you didn't really get to meet Ramona in this chapter._

_Anyway, once again, please submit a review to let me know what you think or what your ideas for future chapters are. I welcome any help because, as I said, I am new to this type of story._

_Thanks!_

  


_Quee._


	2. Chapter Two: Ramona

_The Time We've Lost_

_Chapter Two: Ramona_

  


_Disclaimer: The Princess Bride is not mine. It belongs to S. Morgenstern, or William Goldman, or someone else who isn't me._

  


As the door crept open, her silhouette was framed by light of several candles and a bright fire from within the house. She moved back a few steps to allow the four travellers entrance into her home, and as she did so, this light danced upon her face and illuminated her features.

"She's pretty, I suppose. _(rose)_," Fezzik thought to himself, but he wasn't sure he meant it. The trouble was in her expression. If she were smiling, she would be pretty. Perhaps even beautiful. But she was not smiling. There were faint, tired circles under her eyes, eyes that were dark with an odd expression. Eyes that were angry, sad, hurt. Eyes that were confused. Her mouth was tight, and her stance was stern, and almost unapproachable, though her hands were shaking a little.

For Westley, the most puzzling part of her was not her attitude toward them, for he had sensed early on that she wasn't exactly pleased with their sudden appearance here. What he found suspicious was her skin, which, although tanned, was pale compared to that of Inigo; her hair, which was like the sun, gold, and red, and brown; and her eyes, which were not brown, but deep blue. She looked no more Spanish than Buttercup or himself. Who was this women, and where did she really come from? He pondered this silently, but said nothing.

It was Buttercup who silently and contemptuously noted to herself that this woman had certainly never had princess lessons, or, indeed, any other lessons on personal appearance. Her long hair was slightly messy and wild, and her face was smudged and dirty. Her clothes were worn, and fraying a little on the edges. Her skirt even had a tear in it that ran up the side like a slit, revealing one of her legs up to the knee! Positively indecent. This leg was covered in scratches as though its owner had recently gone traipsing through a field of thorns. She wore no shoes.

Inigo, for his part, noticed very little of any of this, blinded as he was by the biassed eye of an old lover; for he had once loved her more deeply than he had thought possible. To him, she was radiant, as she had always been. Her golden hair shimmered, her skin glowed, and her eyes shone brightly. It rendered him speechless, as it once had, and all he could do was smile weakly at her.

Part of her longed to return that smile, thereby returning to the way things were, the way they had been. There was a time that she'd have given anything for a moment like this. Now, though, her guard was up, and she was unsure.

It suddenly occurred to Ramona that she had been staring at Inigo ever since the door had opened, not even giving the other three a glance. She then realized that she really didn't care.

"You'll be hungry," she suddenly managed to stammer, "I was just fixing some dinner. You can wash up out back. Inigo, could you show them where?" He nodded, still staring at her with those eyes. Those beautiful eyes. You could get lost forever in those eyes, get lost and have no desire to ever return. She closed her own eyes and inhaled deeply as the four travellers left the room. Then, thankful for the brief moment she had gained with which to gather her thoughts, she collapsed into a chair. She rested her elbows on the table and buried her face in her hands. For a few moments her shoulders heaved as though she were crying, although she would not allow the tears to come. Then, she leaned back, closing her eyes again, and folding her arms across her chest. 

"It's good to finally see you again, you know," came a voice from behind her suddenly. Inigo, eager to know Ramona again, had hastefully shown his friends the water basin before giving them some feeble excuse and returning into the house. Now, he stood hesitantly behind her chair, fighting the urge to take her up in his arms and promise never to let go again. She didn't open her eyes in response to him, but tilted her head slightly to the side, saying, 

"It has been a long time."

"Too long."

"Perhaps," she opened her eyes suddenly, "I must check on the stew."

"Is there enough?"

"Perhaps not, but it doesn't matter. I'm not hungry."

"Ok." He knew that arguing with her would be futile. She never ate when she was upset, and he had never been able to convince her. If he pried, he would succeed not in changing her mind, but in upsetting her more. Then she would tell him, angrily and in great detail, why she was upset, and he would be forced to sit and listen until she was done. As he knew already why she was angry, he had no desire to be told in this manner, especially on his first day back. And so, instead, he offered to set the table.

As he set the old wooden bowls in their placed, he thought about the other times he had used them. He and Domingo had occasionally shared meals with Ramona and her father, especially on holidays, when both men missed their wives immensely. In the summer, when they were very small, Inigo and Ramona had also used the bowls to dig holes and make mudpies down on the banks of the creek. Domingo had not approved of such behaviour, but Mandel, Ramona's father, was more lighthearted about such things, preferring to 'let children be children,' and so they were allowed to play.

The sound of the other three entering the room brought Inigo abruptly back to the present. They sat around the table, and Ramona dished out stew to everyone except herself. Then, she sat down, looked pointedly at Inigo, and said, 

"I don't believe you've introduced me to your friends, Inigo."

"Oh – yes, of course," he answered sheepishly. He wondered briefly to himself just how long Ramona would be upset with him. He made the proper introductions, and then busied himself with eating for a few moments. He found, however, that he was suddenly not hungry either.

Dinner, nevertheless, was uneventful, consisting mostly of small talk between Ramona and Inigo about what had been happening in Arabella in the years that Inigo had been gone. After awhile, when Westley, Buttercup, and Fezzik had grown tired of hearing about whatshername's new baby, and so-and-so's marriage, they thanked their hostess for her hospitality, and asked if they might be able to have somewhere to sleep now. Ramona showed them to two small back rooms, one of which had been Mandel's old bedroom, the other his old study. Buttercup and Westley were designated the single, largish bed in the bedroom, while two old straw mattresses were brought in from the garden shed; what the mattresses were doing in the shed, they never knew. Fezzik just hoped that they didn't contain too many creepy crawly things. Inigo's disappointment at not being invited to share Ramona's room showed only briefly on his face. Frankly, he had seen coming. Lord, what a night this had been. He settled himself down against the worn pillow that had been placed on this mattress for him, and pulled his ancient blankets up to his chin. To his dismay, however, he found that he could not sleep.

"Memories," he muttered.

"Subtleties," came a sleepy reply from the other mattress.

"Regret."

"Forget."

"Confused."

"Refused."

"Dismay."

"Delay."

Ramona had just finished tidying the kitchen, but she too realized that there was no way the memories would leave her be and let her sleep tonight. Everything she had worked so hard to forget came flooding back to her, and all her attempts to move on had suddenly been obstructed. Now, the things she had not remembered in years suddenly surged forth like a tidal wave, ready to consume her in memories. For you could not swim when part of you longed to drown.

She had barely any recollection of her life before the age of four, when she and Mandel had come to Arabella. Indeed, it almost seemed as though her life had begun when she met Inigo. As they had ben neighbours, Domingo and his son had been the first to welcome them to the village. Domingo had brought wine for Mandel, and, for Ramona, Inigo had picked some wildflowers. Domingo, the sword maker, had a great respect for intellect, and Mandel, a scholar, though nearly retired, and a recent widower, truly admired the man who balanced so skilfully his trade and single parenthood. The two, therefore, soon became friends, as did their children. Inigo and Ramona, they had had such wonderful times together. He had loved music once, and his voice was that of an angel, warm, kind, loving and beautiful. Where he learned his songs, she never knew, for it wasn't from Domingo. Sometimes she joined in, but she was happy just to listen, for his song could touch her soul. Of course, since Domingo's death, this song had been silenced. She could still hear a trace of music in his voice, though, which was, perhaps why she knew it so well.

Those were still the days in which marriages were arranged, and Domingo and Mandel, being men of tradition and honour, would have no less for their children. Of course, their choice was obvious. Inigo and Ramona, being about six at the time, had handled the news indifferently. (This was after lice, but before cooties.) Slowly, however, their simple, whimsical childhood afternoons evolved into a sweet and loving courtship. How young and innocent they were! As they grew older, they became apt to sitting on the grass by the side of the path, or on the stone bench in the garden, watching the sun set, and the stars come out. It was on these occasions that they dreamed about their future together. As neither had really known their mothers for very long, they were eager to have a family of their own. They were a pair of starry-eyed idealists, and the world held nothing but potential for them. One night, they had stayed out all night, sitting on the bench, gazing at the stars and at each other. She remembered that night well. It had been very warm, and so the evening chill hadn't sent them inside as it often did. They had talked for hours, but, eventually, they had fallen silent. Their eyes met, almost unintentionally, and neither wanted to break the gaze. They stared for what seemed like an eternity, not moving, until Inigo reached out and grasped her hand in his. With his other hand, he touched her cheek lightly, before drawing in and meeting her lips with his own in a chaste kiss, the first real kiss they had ever shared. It ended in a twinkling, and yet it lasted forever. There was no need for words that night. He held her in his arms, and she rested her head on his shoulder, and they sat, silent and contented, until dawn broke over them. This was during the year of the six-fingered sword, about a month before Domingo's death, which was when everything changed.

She could not remember that day except as a blur of emotions. Domingo's body, Inigo fighting with the beautiful six-fingered sword, Inigo's defeat, the red of the parallel slashes on his cheeks, the dust of the nobleman's horse as he rode away, the last glimpse of Yeste's carriage, driving away with her Inigo inside it, perhaps never to return again, the tears that refused to stop.

Mandel died several years later, when she was eighteen, and then she was alone. She remained in her house, seeing no reason to leave. Some of the more prying citizens of Arabella took it upon themselves to inquire as to whether she had family she could go and live with, but these people did less to help her than they did to agitate her. She kept insisting that she would remain in her father's house, perfectly capable of taking care of herself, until they all gave up and left her alone. She carried on, looking so strong and brave from the outside, but on the inside she ached, desperate for all the love she had known but a few years ago.

It was the summer of her nineteenth year that he returned briefly to her. Inigo had barely changed, although he carried with him an air of solemnity. She had been so ecstatic to see him that she barely minded. He had asked her to marry him, and she had agreed. It was a small, private ceremony, just the two of them and the priest. That night, he had shared her bed and they believed that they were just as any other husband and wife. Each night for a week they made love and fell asleep in each other's arms. Then, he left, explaining that he had to return to Yeste, to see if he was worthy to go and seek his revenge on his father's murderer. She told him she understood, and she did, but her disappointment, and her despair at being left alone again was not well hidden. She had felt guilty at the time for being so selfish, for she could tell that he wasn't leaving because he wanted to.

"Go," she had said to him tearfully. "If you have to go away, then leave before it gets too dark."

"I won't be gone long," he promised, soothingly.

"You say that now, but there are many things outside Arabella. Beautiful, exciting sights, and beautiful, exciting cities, with beautiful, exciting . . . girls." She hated to say such things to him, make him feel worse than he already did, but she just couldn't help it. She was so terrified of losing him forever. After all, how could she compete?

"I have but one goal in my mind, and I will not stray for it for one moment. No sight, no city, no girl will distract me, and once I kill the six-fingered man, I will return here to you and tell you all about it. Then, I will settle down and never leave your side again."

"Suppose you can't find him so quickly?"

"There is not danger of that."

"And if he kills you?"

"There is no danger of that either."

"Very well, then, you better go now. Before it gets late."

"I could stay a few minutes."

"No, you better not. You wanted to leave, so go," she said hastily, for she did not want him to see her cry.

He brushed the top of her head with his lips, and she turned and gave him one last kiss, pouring into it all the emotion and longing she felt in her heart. Her hands tangled in his hair, and his arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her close. For a moment, time hung suspended in mid air, and everything was all right. Then, suddenly, he was gone, walking up the path and out of her life again. She watched him until he was out of sight, then she went to her room, lay on her bed, and didn't come out again until the following afternoon.

She waited patiently for him for five years. He returned to her once more, and much of the same thing happened. He had still not found the six-fingered man, and she was beginning to lose heart. She begged him not to leave her again, but he could not stay. There were no tears for him when he left. Her eyes were dry, and her eyes were cold. Her heart had hardened toward this man, this man who seemed to enjoy the cruel game of getting her hopes up, then leaving her alone again. She resigned herself to what she was sure was to be a life of solitude, celibacy, and loneliness.

And now. Now he was back again, and what was she to do? Should she give in once more to his charms, enjoy it while it lasts, but continue to live in dread of the inevitable day when he will leave again? For although his quest was over, although the six-fingered man was dead, could she really believe that Inigo could give up his life of adventure? What else could she do? How much longer could she give him the cold shoulder, pretending not to care? If, after years of darkness, the sun had begun to shine again, it would be foolish and futile to pretend that you didn't notice, and such it was with Inigo back in her life. But – what? How many more times could she stand to be hurt by this man before she finally died of grief? She loathed herself. Her inability to make decisions, her weak will power, her whimsical, romantic attitude toward something that had gone so wrong. She and Inigo, they didn't belong together.

She had no energy, thinking had taken everything she had out of her. She went outside, hoping to clear her head, and her eyes fell on the garden bench. As she sat down on it, trying to take deep, calming breaths of cool night air, everything was too familiar. She no longer had the energy to fend off the fresh wave of tears that sprung to her eyes, and so she wept. She sobbed and sobbed.

And Inigo heard her. He was lying awake, long after Fezzik had drifted off. He too was remembering, becoming reacquainted with this old, familiar house. Deciding that some fresh air might help him sleep, he was on his way to the front door when he realized that she was there already, and that she was crying. He knew who had caused her this grief, and was filled with a deep sense of regret. Two twin tears dwindled slowly down his cheeks, and he had to go to her.

She suddenly felt the weight of his hand on her shoulder. Tired of resisting, she covered it with her own, and shifted forward, allowing him to sit behind her on the bench. 

"I never wanted to leave," he whispered.

"I know."

"Every time I left, I died. I wanted nothing more than to stay here with you. I left only because I had to."

"I know."

He rested his chin on her shoulder and inhaled deeply. She still smelled the same. Like vanilla and oranges. He didn't know what to say. He kissed her softly on the cheek, and she did not pull away. She turned and looked at him.

"I loved you, you know. More than anything else," she said wistfully.

"I loved you to. I still love you. And I will continue to love you even after I have drawn my last breath."

"I still love you too. But I cannot bear to lose you again."

"I will never leave you again."

"So you say."

He fell silent for a moment. Then, he said, quite suddenly, 

"Do you remember that night, on this bench –"

"Yes."

"We were so young, so full of hope. It is not too late for us, you know."

"Perhaps not."

Again, silence. This time it lasted longer. They were both reminiscing again. Inigo turned on the bench so that he and Ramona faced each other. They gazed into each other's eyes, seeing, feeling, remembering. He touched her cheek, then her hair. She reached for his hand, interlocking their fingers. She closed her eyes as he pulled her in, and they were children again. He kissed her mouth and stroked her long, golden hair. She brought his arms up around his neck, caressing his shoulders and pulling him even closer. After an instant and an eternity, they broke apart slightly. She rested her head on his shoulder, and he put his arm around her. They sat this way, silent and contented, until the first pink light of dawn broke over them.

_Well, there's chapter two. I hope you weren't disappointed._

_A huge thank you to_ _The Dateless Wunder (thank you for such a flattering review, I hope you like these rhymes.),_ _MelodyReiterLee_ _(I'm glad you didn't hate it! _ _I fixed the question mark in chapter one – thanks.), and 0 (thanks for the review, and you're right, there should be more Inigo/anyone fics.)_

_Please keep reading and keep reviewing. I really want to know what you think._

_Thanks._

_Quee_.


	3. Chapter Three: The Storm

_The Time We've Lost_

_Chapter Three: The Storm_

_Disclaimer: The Princess Bride is not mine. It belongs to S. Morgenstern, or William Goldman, or someone else who isn't me._

  
  
  


_ After an instant and an eternity, they broke apart slightly. She rested her head on his shoulder, and he put his arm around her. They sat this way, silent and contented, until the first pink light of dawn broke over them._

  


And yet . . . 

All is not always well. In the land of dreams, there are nightmares. In fairy tales, there are curses and villains. With fantasies come disillusion. With roses come thorns. It is commonly said among sailors that a red sky in the morning tells of a coming storm. And such it was with Inigo and Ramona. After all, only one couple in a century has a chance at true love. And the position had already been filled.

It is often strange and obscure, the thing that starts it all. Sometimes so much that when one looks back, trying to see, to understand where it all began, what when wrong, they are baffled, lost in a sea of muddled facts and uncertain guesses. Eventually, what comes to the surface are 'I should have's' or 'I shouldn't have's' or 'If only's.' Regret. For the amount of time this emotion spends toying with our lives and gnawing at our souls, it is highly overlooked. Anyone who has loved and lost could speak of its impact for days on end.

With them, it was a trip to the market. A simple, innocent task, and yet it managed to bring all the past to the surface and affect all the future.

"I'm out of peppers," muttered Ramona as they made their way inside, "I'll have to go to town today." She grimaced. She hated going to town. It was full of busybodies, and self-righteous, judgmental-

"I'll go if you like," said Inigo, seeing her expression, "It'll be great. I haven't been in so long."

Ramona looked relieved. "That would be wonderful," she smiled. It was good to have him back, she supposed. "I'll need about three peppers, red ones."

"All right, from which shop?" There were several grocers in Arabella, and each housewife seemed to have her preference.

"It doesn't matter, just so long as they're not too expensive."

"You don't have a regular shop?"

"I don't go into town that often."

"But everyone goes shopping in town pretty often. How do you ever get to see and visit with people?"

"Some people, I find, are not worth visiting with."

He dropped it then. He had decided that pointless arguments would do best to be avoided for a while, and he could tell by the tone her voice had taken on that this was not a pleasant topic. And so, he dropped it. It did make him wonder, though. Was she all alone, completely secluded in the woods by her own will? And didn't she care? What grudge was it that she seemed to have against the general population of Arabella?

"Perhaps I'll go see if Fezzik wants to come with me," he said finally. He could use a visit with Fezzik right about now. With Fezzik, there was no guess work. With him, you knew where you stood.

It didn't take long for the two of them to reach the town.

"Curious."

"Furious."

"Odd."

"Sod."

"Lonely."

"Only."

"Secluded."

"Eluded."

As they arrived at the market, Inigo began to wonder just how many grocers Arabella had. There were vegetable stands as far as the eye could see, and he suddenly felt that he was in way over his head. He scanned the market area for any face that he may find slightly familiar, but, finding none, he gave up and trudged to the closest stand, Fezzik trailing hesitantly behind him. As the man behind the counter turned to wait on them, however, Inigo's spirits lifted. This was Mr. Gilberto, the man who had once sold vegetables to Domingo. Of course, his hands were now knobbly and wrinkled as he reached for the peppers Inigo asked for, and his step was slower, but there was no doubting that it was him. He looked at his latest customer with a searching look, trying to place the face that he was sure was familiar. As he handed the peppers to Inigo and named his price, he added,

"Begging your pardon, sir, but have you been to Arabella before? I do not wish to pry, only your face seems so familiar to me."

"I grew up here," said Inigo, smiling. Old as he was, Mr. Gilberto still remembered the faces of every person he saw. Of course, he didn't know who Inigo was, but, after all, it had been a very long time. Even to realize that you had once known a face from that long ago was impressive.

"Grew up here? What is your name?"

"Inigo Montoya."

Recognition dawned on the old man's face, and he smiled brilliantly. "My, it has been a long time," he whispered, "many of us believed you would never return." 

"It is very good to be back," Inigo replied.

"Why, I remember when you were only a little boy," said the grocer, eyes twinkling, "you used to come here with your father, and he'd buy a sack of beans, and sometimes some carrots or spinach, and you would always stand on your toes so that you could only just peek over the top of the counter, and you'd tell him to buy some oranges. Loved oranges, you did, and you'd try that every week. He'd buy one for you about every month, just to keep you quiet, he said, but I knew he just loved to see your face. You always looked so triumphant and excited."

Inigo smiled. He remembered the orange days. He and Domingo would share the orange on the way home, or when they got back to the shop. How he missed those days. Perhaps he would buy an orange today.

Mr. Gilberto was still chatting on. 

"Of course, sometimes you used to bring little Ramona along with you, and the two of you would make the fruits talk as though they were puppets. You're staying at her house, I take it? Well, that's good. I'm sure she's loved having you around again. Heaven knows it's nice for her to have something to be happy about, the poor girl. She's been having a rough time of it lately, all alone in that cottage, and secluded in the woods like she is. I worry about her sometimes, you know, we don't see much of her in town. I've always said she was a tough one, but she's also very stubborn. You try and talk some sense into that one, she needs it. There are some things you just shouldn't try to bear alone. The town's been giving her the widow treatment, you know."

Inigo started. "Oh?" he asked, trying to sound casual as his features visibly paled.

"Yes, poor thing, and, you know, she could have appealed it a the town hall if she wanted, what with you not necessarily dead and her still being so young. I'd have taken her side for her. But she didn't seem to care. In fact, I think that's what turned her into such a recluse. Like I said, she's real stubborn. I think she's acting out of spite, because it seems to me that she's purposely doing the exact opposite of what the treatment is supposed to make a person do."

He paused for a breath, and Inigo took this opportunity to pay him and collect the peppers. This, he decided, was no time for oranges. As he turned to go, Mr. Gilberto touched his shoulder lightly.

"Take care of her," he said, earnestly.

"And you take care of your daughter," replied Inigo, "I hear she's given you a new grandchild."

Mr. Gilberto looked puzzled. "No, not yet," he answered gently, "You must have her confused with someone else. She only just got married last month."

Inigo smiled apologetically, "Yes, that must be it. Congratulations on the wedding then," he called as he walked away numbly. Ramona had definitely said that Maria Gilberto had just had a baby.

  


It was at times like this that Inigo most appreciated his strong friendship with Fezzik. Fezzik was a very good friend, and he was able to read people much better than Vizzini would ever have given him credit for. This morning, for example, although he wasn't exactly sure what was wrong, the giant could sense that something was the matter and that his friend needed to be alone and think for a while.

"Do you want me to take the peppers back to Ramona for you? In case you want to visit someone else or go down to the river awhile or something." 

"Yes, I think that that may be a very good idea. Thank you Fezzik. You're a true friend."

"'till the very end."

And with that, the giant was off down the path toward the woods, leaving a very confused Spaniard behind him.

  


When Fezzik had walked far enough away that he could no longer be seen, Inigo walked down the path a little ways until he reached the part where it met the stream. Here, he sat down on the bank and removed his boots. The had always found as a boy that it was easier to think with his feet in the water. Soon, sure enough, the constant flow over the bare tops of his feet allowed him to relax a little, and he began to collect his thoughts. 

He had only ever known three women to have been given the widow treatment while he was growing up. Two of them remarried, one of whom waited a little until she found some nice man that she could love, the other of whom, tired of the treatment she was getting, rushed into marriage, accepting the first proposal that came her way. It was commonly said by all the people of Arabella that her husband beat her every night. The last of the women did not remarry, determined to remain faithful to her beloved deceased husband. She had waited out the lonely hours, days, weeks, months, all by herself in his rocking chair by the fire, until she was finally driven insane and sent off to live with her family in a far away village. Inigo shuddered at the thought. 

Widows, in Arabella, were seen as burdens to society, because they required much care and charity. The Widow Treatment, therefore, had been designed to encourage the woman to remarry. For the first month, everyone was very kind and helpful, bringing her meals, doing chores for her, and helping her to cope. At the end of one month, they all deserted her. All, that is, except for any single men who were interested in her. The idea was that if she was publicly shunned by the whole town, with only these men to turn to, she'd eventually marry one of them, thereby returning to society, no longer as a burden. Really, the practise was quite cruel to say the least. Inigo had never cared much for it. And now, the sheer thought of it infuriated him to the core.

No wonder Ramona had been so distant with him, so angry. It was, after all, partially his fault, he thought. Of course, he hadn't chosen to leave, so to speak. Well, he had chosen to leave, but the circumstances of his decision had hardly given him a choice. She, however, was less likely to see it his way. He could picture now exactly how she would have reacted to the Treatment. They wouldn't have started it until after Mandel died. That would have made her almost nineteen. She, knowing that the first month was all pretense, and realising that these people who were being so kind now would soon turn on her and publicly shun her, had probably resisted any nice efforts from anyone. This meant that, apart from occasional trips into town only when absolutely necessary, and the rare times that he came home, she had been living her life completely alone for almost fifteen years. She had been so cut off, he reasoned, from human contact, that she was afraid to start up their relationship again. That explained her behaviour perfectly. Or did it, really? He just didn't know.

Inigo suddenly felt overridden with guilt, a guilt that weighed heavily on his heart and punctured his soul. What could he have done? Could she have expected him to stay at home while the six-fingered man still lived in comfort? Had she wanted him to give upon his quest after his efforts had been fruitless for so long? Had she, after a time, expected anything from him except for disappointment? He couldn't be sure, and yet he still felt a nagging in the pit of his stomach that made him feel as though he had failed her. 

How had she felt all those years? Had she ever been tempted just to remarry in order to end the solitary hell that her life must have become. What of all the men that had sought her? In Inigo's mind, she had been pursued by many men, for he still thought her perfect, and incredibly desirable. In his mind, he saw her vehemently turning down thousands of suitors, more men than there actually were in Arabella. He thought guiltily about Giuletta and his own weak will power.

  


She had always loved being the 'tragic heroine' when she was small. Whenever they played make-believe games, she was the damsel in distress, the beautiful girl who needed to be gallantly rescued by a knight in shining armour, a part that Inigo was always only too happy to play. Her choice of character had always puzzled him, in a sense, because he had always perceived her to be strong, and independent. Now that he thought about it, though, it struck him that she, herself, probably saw her life differently. Perhaps she was the tragic heroine in her own life. She was not often punished by Mandel, but when she was, she was more likely to be hurt and confused by his actions than accepting, or even angry. She would do whatever the punishment entailed with her shoulders back and her head held high, and proud, as though she was refusing to be oppressed by what she surely felt was a random act of injustice. She had probably acted the same way to The Treatment, standing tall and proud in the face of overwhelming odds.

He sat for several hours, wallowing in remorse. He was a bad husband, a bad person, a bad friend. How could he have deserted her? Why didn't she ever tell him what she had been going through? She must have worked very hard to conceal it. She'd even made up stories about what was going on in town last night at dinner. She had never known who was getting married, or who had children. She had lied to him to avoid his finding out what had happened to her. Why hadn't he known, been able to guess? Was he so self-centered? 

  


But then, all of a sudden, a new emotion surfaced in him. It spread quickly, taking over his senses and washing all other feeling out of his mind. It came in the form of a new thought that suddenly made itself known. He recalled the comment he had heard only a few hours ago, as he left Mr. Gilberto's grocer's stand.

"Who was that man?" Mrs. Gilberto, who was coming back from behind the shop had asked as Inigo walked away.

"Inigo Montoya."

"Ramona's Inigo?"

"Yes."

"Then I suppose Bernardo won't be over at her house any more."

"I suppose not."

  


Filled with a sudden sense of rage, Inigo stood up, put on his boots, and began walking at a steady pace back to Ramona's.

  
  


_Tada!_

_Chapter Three. Sorry it took so long to post. I've been away. Actually, I had full intentions of writing this chapter and perhaps the next one on the aeroplane, but forgot that I had scissors in my pencil case, so I wasn't allowed to keep my carry-on bag with me. (Sigh.)_

_Thanks to MelodyReiterLee, Pisces, and Kaleema for your wonderful reviews. I hope to hear your thoughts on this chapter, and I'll try to post the next one soon._

  


_Regards!_

  


_Quee._

  


_PS: points to Pisces, who caught the Mandel / Mandy Patinkin link in the last chapter. It actually wasn't intentional, but once it found its way in there and I realized it, I liked it too much to change it._


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